


A Kiss To Remember

by mosslover



Category: Poldark - All Media Types, Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: First Meeting, M/M, groomsman Ross, mentions of drunken behavior, photographer Jim, post break-up blues, sort of, wedding setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6601483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosslover/pseuds/mosslover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Photographing weddings is not the best therapy for a post break-up funk. And then there's the fact that this time, one of the groomsmen looks familiar, and Jim has no idea where or how they've met before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kiss To Remember

**Author's Note:**

> A little darkhawk, written for the [Spring FRE](http://gatheringfiki.tumblr.com/post/142500508170/springfre-prompts-masterlist), prompt #46 - photoshoot meet-cute. I kind of took it and ran with it... The 'meet' part is there. Whether it's also cute, I don't know :D
> 
> Thanks to dandelionpower for the help!

Click, click, click.

Jim checks his Nikon’s digital display to see what settings he needs to correct, and to make sure no one is sticking out too much. He covers up a sigh - the light is probably as good as it would get right now, but the groom is looking away again. That’s the third time in three pictures. The groomsmen session is just starting, but this doesn’t bode well.

“Let’s try that again, guys, all eyes at me!” Jim shouts at the assembled men. Nine smiles materialize in the viewfinder.

Jim waits a moment before pushing the button. It’s hot in the courtyard, and he feels like his weekends have been stuck in a loop of someone else’s happily ever after for ages, even though it’s only four months into the wedding season. He wishes he could fast-forward to the end of the reception, to when he can actually have a drink. Hopefully the wandering-eyed groom stocked up on the good wine for this shebang.

 

Click.

Okay, got one with everyone looking at him. Keep it going while it lasts.

Click, click.

He’d thought he’d be more okay with doing weddings by now. It’s been three months since the breakup. But no such luck: other people’s expensive displays of love and commitment still grate at his miserable dumped heart.

At least his head is finally clearing up, has been for about a month. Before that, things were pretty dismal.

He still wonders how he managed to get all the orders fulfilled without major glitches.

He adjusts the settings again. The light is still a bit too sharp, the sun too high yet, but it’s all about knowing how to tweak it and set it up and Jim is a pro at getting the right results.

“One more shot!” he calls. The matching yellow ties all line up like ducks in a row.

Click.

 

“Alright, let’s regroup here by the fountain,” he announces, moderately satisfied. Maybe this will go alright after all.

It’s not until he walks up close to arrange two of the groomsmen who, two hours before aisle walk are already too drunk to tell their left from their right, that he realizes the tall brunet with hazel eyes is watching him intently.

Jim pauses: not only is the guy startlingly attractive, but he also seems vaguely familiar. Jim can’t quite zoom in on where he might have seen him before, though. Maybe another wedding before this?

 

And was that a nod of recognition? The guy is definitely looking at Jim like he knows something the blond doesn’t.

 

A little disconcerted, Jim tucks a strand of unruly hair behind his ear and walks backward until he’s just far enough to frame the shot with hydrangea bushes and the magenta blooms of clematis climbing up the wall of the former convent, now a sought out wedding venue. This must be Jim’s eighth one here this season.

“Alright, guys, perfect. Hold still.”

 

Click.

Jim checks the shot, readjusts the ISO speed, softens the focus. His eyes are drawn to the brunet again, his bright grin quite the magnet now that Jim knows it’s there. It’s a smile that makes his knees go a bit weak.

He catches himself, aims the Nikon again. The two most intoxicated of his subjects are laughing about something, leaning sideways.

“Straight spines, guys, this is serious business. The groom’s getting a life sentence today after all!” he calls out.

Surely he’s allowed a lame joke now and then to regain attention. A chuckle goes through the group; he captures it.

Click.

“Look at the groom everyone!”

Eight pairs of eyes obey.

Click, click.

Check; the groom’s gaze had strayed towards his shoes in the last shot.

Jim pushes back a groan.

 

 

Resisting the urge to throw his Nikon into the hydrangea bush, he orders the men to the back of the sprawling grounds for the last set of shots. There’s wide stone staircase there and a sunlit terrace that opens up to a view of the bay.

Jim leads the way, thoughts cycling back to the mysterious brunet.

He could swear he’s seen him before, and it’s more than likely that it has been while working a wedding. His social life has been either that or the occasional dinner with friends or family, nothing else, for the past few miserable months. 

He’s clawing his way back out of the funk finally, but it hits him again how deep in it he’d been just recently. He had to have been truly messed up if he forgot a face like the brunet’s. After the breakup, he had run on autopilot for weeks, his usually sharp mind suddenly unable to organize and his usual motivation to go out bottoming out at zero.

If they’ve seen each other at a wedding and the guy hadn’t been a part of the actual wedding party, if he was simply one of the guests, he wouldn't come up on too many photos. And to be brutally honest, there were a few occasions during which Jim had gotten a slight bit shitfaced once the official proceedings were over and he could finally take his finger off the shutter. He was quite good at guessing the moment at which the reception crossed over to the wild side and he took that as a cue to indulge in the open bar. No one wanted evidence of Aunt Maud’s cleavage nearly escaping her low-cut neckline during a spin on the dancefloor, or of a bridesmaid puking into a floral arrangement that matched the color of her dress.

So at which of these twenty-odd weddings could he have met -

 

“Do you have a moment?”

The voice sends a pleasant shiver down Jim’s spine. He turns and as he suspects, it’s the brunet’s swift step crunching on the gravel path to catch up. He pauses to let him fall in step, keeping his face clear of the frown that fights to manifest; the inability to put his finger on the memory is more frustrating than dealing with the inattentive bridegroom.

From up close the guy is even hotter. The yellow of the groomsmen’s tie goes nicely with the olive skin of his face. He’s not quite clean shaven, but the stubble doesn’t in any way muddle up the clear lines of his jaw. The gorgeous mouth is quirked up into a little smile, and the hazel eyes are scanning Jim’s face, lights dancing in the brown irises. It all seems like a bit of a déjà vu, like a moment from the past glimpsed through thick fog.

Jim remains guarded, but he nods to the brunet's question. “Sure, yeah.”

“I was wondering if you remember me,” the brunet smiles.

“Should I?” Jim says. The voice is making little bells go off in his brain, as if touching on - something.

The brunet laughs. “Well, there was always that danger. I suppose you were quite inebriated.”

That’s all too true a possibility.

“We met at a wedding?” the brunet hints.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific,” Jim laughs. “I shot around two dozen so far this spring.”

The well-cut eyebrows go up, and a look of astonishment, bordering on horror, sneaks into the brunet’s eyes. “That many? That sounds…”

“Like torture?” Jim suggests, and gets a laugh in return. Alarmingly, the sound rings with familiarity as well. What the hell…

“Fuck yes. This is the second one I’m at this year and I’m already over it.” He shakes his head, his curls doing a little dance. _God he’s cute._ Now Jim wants to unearth this mystery even if it’s potentially embarrassing as hell.

The brunet continues: “It was in early May. At the botanical gardens.”

Jim searches his mind, draws a blank.

“You said your name was Jim Hawkins?”

Shit, so they really did meet. He's only introduced himself by his first name today. “I wasn’t lying.”

“You mentioned a recent breakup,” the guy goes on, the grin turning sympathetic.

The terrace comes into view. Jim fidgets with the camera strap.

“Early May was not a good time,” he admits. “So yeah, I probably got a bit drunk once I was off the clock… I don’t do that regularly, but - sorry, I really can’t say I remember us talking.”

The brunet’s expression slips to positively rakish. “So I guess you don’t remember us kissing either?”

Startled, Jim stares up at him; the guy has a good four inches on him. “We – we kissed?”

The brunet laughs again, and fuck, if it isn’t an amazing sight. It looks gorgeous on him, more gorgeous even than the perfectly fitting suit, and that’s saying something. Jim’s camera hand twitches with the urge to do what it does best.

All the more when a hint of blush sneaks onto the brunet’s cheekbones. “Well – I think I’d still call it a kiss, though it got a little heated towards the end.”

“Please don’t tell me it was in public,” Jim groans.

“In the cloak room,” the other man relieves him with a wink.

“Christ.” Jim feels heat rise into his own face. “I guess if I was that drunk, I should be glad that making out is all we did… Or did we-”

A formidable frown appears where just a moment, a blush and a grin ruled. “Hey, I wouldn’t have let it go that far, it was pretty clear you were blitzed...” The brunet sounds somewhere between offended and troubled.

Jim backtracks. “Oh, shit, I didn’t mean to suggest –“

“Don’t sweat it.” The brunet smiles again, but it’s cooler than earlier, and Jim curses himself. Before he can open his mouth to apologize though, they enter into the full blaze of afternoon sun on the terrace. The brunet looks like he might say more as well but in the end refrains; the groom and the rest of the groomsmen spill loudly onto the stone tiles at that moment. And Jim has no choice but to get back to work.

 

The next few hours mean a perpetual eye on the viewfinder and little rest. Jim just about fills a memory card, switching to a new one just before the ceremony to avoid a moment of panic right between “I do” and “You may kiss the bride”. Then there are the toasts, dinner, first dances, and highlights of the reception to document. Jim’s arms and neck start to ache in a way he knows very well.

All through the progressing night, he can’t stop being aware of the brunet. He’s even caught his name: Ross. Not that there’s a chance for them to have a chat.

He can’t stop thinking about him though.

_Botanical gardens…_

He remembers feeling particularly down that weekend in May, so he probably was as ‘blitzed’ as Ross mentioned.

Did they really kiss in the cloak room?

Well fuck him running. He wishes he’d remember THAT.

 

When the camera strap is finally off his neck and his equipment tucked away, he grabs a generous glass of zinfandel at the bar and snags a few mussels off the appetizers tray – he did manage dinner earlier, but it’s been a while now. He scans the crowd for Ross, elbows his way to him around the edge of the dance floor.

The brunet’s smile is a bit reserved when Jim shows up by his shoulder. “I guess you’re a free man now? You look different without the camera.”

“I feel different, too. Ten pounds lighter. The Nikon’s like an extension of me on days like this.”

Ross nods, sips on his beer.

Jim takes a deep breath. “So, um, sorry about not remembering our previous encounter...”

“That’s alright,” Ross shrugs. “I know how it gets. I got dumped myself just before Christmas, so I certainly appreciate how it can mess with your mind. I gathered you weren’t having an easy time, and believe me, I didn’t take advantage of you.”

“I’m sorry about that too,” Jim says. “I shouldn’t have suggested that, that was crappy of me.”

“Well, you don’t really know me, do you?” Ross shrugs again, but his smile takes on a warmer tone.

“I know now that your name is Ross,” Jim says.

“Oh? Well, that’s a start.” The smile deepens. Then Ross’ face turns serious again. “So are things getting easier these days?”

“Yeah.” Jim takes a deep gulp of his wine, bites his lip. Then takes a deep breath before plunging in. “So, is there any chance we could have another go at this?” he asks. “You look like someone I want to remember kissing.”

He flushes at the flattered surprise that takes over Ross’ features. He’s a bit shocked himself that he’d actually said it. “If you’re not attached, that is. But I’d understand if-“ he adds hastily, but the brunet jumps in.

“I’m not. Attached. So maybe-”

Jim hides his grin behind the rim of the glass. “Great, yeah. I mean, we don’t have to actually kiss. We can just talk.“

“I’m not opposed to either,” Ross smiles like innocence corrupted, and it makes heat gather in Jim’s midsection. “As long as you are planning on remembering it this time?”

“I’m planning on it, but just in case… we should make it memorable,” Jim grins in response.

Not that he thinks he could forget Ross twice.

The night darkens around them, and after they spend the remainder of the reception chatting and dancing, Ross presses Jim against the vine-covered walls of the convent for a redo of that first unfortunate kiss.

And Jim’s positive that the eager heat of Ross’ mouth will stay etched in his mind for a long time coming.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, lovelies :) Please let me know what you think...


End file.
